


Rip and Tear

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood, Cannibalism, Coming In Pants, Horcrux making, Horcruxes, Necrophilia, Rutting, Why Did I Write This?, so i guess i wanted to write cannibalism but it turned to smut?, uh it's short but okay i hope ;;
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 11:27:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12080139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: To make a Horcrux properly, you need to commit one horrible, terrible act. In Tom's case, he does 3 terrible acts, to ensure his future as a Dark Lord.(Or, the story where Tom tries to eat the corpse of Myrtle Warren to make a Horcrux. He does a bit more than that.)





	Rip and Tear

Tom hears a gasp, a soft thunk on the floor, and a metallic clink.

He's just killed Myrtle using Hecate the Basilisk.

The voice of Hecate hissed jubilantly, obviously pleased at her little prize.

$Tom, may I eat her myself?$ Hecate is overjoyed, but he cannot see her face right now. His eyes are firmly shut so he can live, Hecate's eyes are still open. 

$No, not today dear. I must use this... opportunity to preserve my lifespan.$ Tom smiles thinly. $Would you mind going down to the chamber again? I need this.$

Hecate laughs, a raspy laugh that sounds like her scales slithering along rock and sand. Tom shivers. $Of course, but you must bring me some meat when you come down.$

Tom nods, and he hears Hecate move down the sink hole. It closes behind her, and Tom opens his eyes and stares down at the body lying in front of him, morbid curiosity bubbling up within the depths of his heart, hands twitching for his wand so he can vanish this mess.

Myrtle's eyes are wide and glassy, and she looks stuck in some sort of serene stupor. She looks like she's seen something terrible (but of course she has, she looked into the eyes of death itself). Her glasses lie on the floor, a crack running through one of the lenses. 

Tom sits next to her arm, placing his diary on the floor. He knows that if she becomes a ghost, she won't form for a few days. It's perfect. 

He sets up some wards around the door so no one will come in at this time. He just needs to eat part of her, and then he'll be immortal.

Conjuring a knife, fork and napkin, Tom grimaces as her body's bowels loosen, and all her urine and feces leak out of her. He vanishes the mess, grossed out already.

Taking a breath, Tom makes the first cut with the knife. It's hard to do, but he doesn't care. This is one of the last steps to being immortal. He only needs a few small bites of her.

The chunk of flesh sits on the fork, little bits of blood dribbling off of it, and Tom squeezes his eyes shut. 

Tom quickly cooks it with an incendio. The blood sizzles and pops and making horrible little noises. It smells awful. Tom grimaces and takes a small bite, before taking another. And another. 

His soul is starting the dividing process, and it transfers to the diary. Tom is floating, weightless on a cloud of delight. The cooked skin tasted wonderful (was it just an effect of half his soul being divided?).

All rational thought flew out the window. Tom immediately raised Myrtle's arm and bit into it, not caring about the blood that dribbled onto his clothes and on his chin. Uncaring of the raw skin that he was eating.

Chewing frantically, he tried desperately to eat as much as he could. He hadn't eaten anything all day either.

The pain lancing through his teeth startled him, as he hadn't realized that he had bitten down to the bone already. Deciding it was time to move on from her arm, he moved so he was between her legs. Lifting up the skirt so he could get closer to her body, he shuffled towards her, eager anticipation lighting up his eyes.

Lifting up her shirt so he could see her stomach, he bit into it as well, marring the perfect flesh there with blood and spittle. Tom was uncaring still, all he craved was the flesh. He was chewing so frantically that he was moving rapidly, moving his hips and hands.

He bucked up against her body, and suddenly he needed to get off as well. His dick was hardening already, and Tom whimpered deep in his throat. He felt the utter need to orgasm, to rut against Myrtle's body until he came.

Biting into Myrtle's neck, he held on with his teeth as blood dribbled through his teeth and down his chin as he bucked frantically against her, her wide glassy eyes still staring off into the distance. 

Tom is biting harder, and he takes a chunk out of her skin with abnormally sharp teeth (that he's always had.) and whines louder, rutting faster, feeling the friction from his pants and the wet slick that's dribbling down the front of his underwear and pants, the wet spot growing on the front of his pants.

Groaning, Tom wraps his arms around the corpse that has too many bites taken out of it and bucks against it, and Tom is so far gone he can't think anymore, he just wants this. He needs this.

The corpse of Myrtle Warren stares through him, and Tom comes with no small amount of force, gasping and moaning and writhing, the front of his pants dampening with his cum, and he feels his soul ripping in half. 

Magic is whipping around him, and it coats him like a jacket, vibrating and humming around him, cupping his dick and Tom is orgasming again, moaning louder and louder, gasping into what's left of Myrtle's neck. Tom ruts against her even more, his eyes focusing and unfocusing on some point in the distance. 

His mind is reeling from the stimulation, his hips still jerkily rutting against Myrtle. He feels emptier, and his diary is glimmering. He's done it. 

The magic in the air dissapates. 

Shuffling away from the mangled and bloody and filthy corpse that he's defiled, his legs move him towards the sinks. Tom- Voldemort, now- stands on shaky doe legs, stumbling and catching the edge of the sink.

Looking in the mirror, Voldemort sees the blood and spittle and mussed up hair, the come stained pants and the empty eyes.

It fills him with a strange sense of pride. He's done it. He's immortal.

Voldemort laughs in the empty washroom, his diary glimmering and fading on the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading this disgusting tidbit of fanfiction i've written.


End file.
